


Making Love Beautifully

by Tammany



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Contented Couple, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 15:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15488589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammany/pseuds/Tammany
Summary: Making love means many things to many people. To the happiest, it is a gift of grace and kindness. This is small, happy, and about love, not sex.





	Making Love Beautifully

“This isn’t working, is it?” Greg sighed, squaring his elbows between Mycroft’s thighs and looking at his lover over the rolling landscape of groin, belly, and chest. The view was all right—but, really, foreshortening was a bit of a bitch. He didn’t think Mike would want to know his prick was bigger than his head…

Mike looked back down the same landscape in reverse: pecs, abs, crotch, Lestrade. Looked at from Microft’s perspective, Lestrade’s head was still bigger than Mycroft’s cock, and would have been even if said cock had been properly erect and interested. Tonight it wasn’t.

“No,” he said, apologetically. “I’m afraid it’s not working, through no fault of your own. The service is excellent, as ever. It’s the old, old story: the spirit is willing, but the flesh—“

“Isn’t,” Greg cut in, grinning ruefully. “The flesh is not interested.”

“I thought it would be…” Mike studied his member, limp and lazy and a bit damp from Lestrade’s ministrations, a torpid eel in a tangle of red algae. “Honestly, I’d have said if I’d known. We can switch. No reason for you to go without just because my John Thomas seems to have dozed off.”

“No,” Lestrade said with a regretful sigh. “Honestly, there’s something about that level of committed apathy that strips the fun out of it, even with turn-about.” He sat up, and skritched the long line of hair running from chest to navel to crotch. Then he stretched like a cat—every inch involved, working out the kinks and waking up the pulse. “Mmmm. So—what about a late-night snack and a cuppa before we crash?”

Mycroft felt a small smile turn up one corner of his wide mouth. “Leftover ham and tomato on that nice country loaf we bought at the baker’s yesterday?”

“Sounds good, though I’d add a bit of mustard and cheddar.”

“It’s a deal,” Mycroft said.

So they pattered down the way to the kitchen, and ate their midnight snack, and showered together to get the crumbs and the sticky remains of their failed love-making off before sleep. They slid into cool sheets, debated the varied pleasures of a white noise generator, a recorded storm, or an audiobook, settling for the storm. They lay together, side by side, and tangled their fingers together.

“I would have said if I’d known,” Mycroft said again.

“Ne’ mind. Last time it was me, if I recall. Sometimes it just doesn’t quite….” He faltered, looking for words. “Sometimes it just doesn’t catch, like trying to start a fire with damp wood.” He rolled on his side and pressed a kiss to his lover’s temple.

“You make love so nicely,” Mycroft said, smiling and not thinking of their earlier activity at all. He held Lestrade’s hand tight. “Best lover in the world…”

Lestrade, thinking of how full his world seemed, now that he had this strange, exotic, reclusive man in his life, sighed happily. “Can’t be, unless it’s a tie, love. Otherwise you have the title. Best lover ever.”

And neither thought even a moment about the failure before, or fretted for the many victories ahead. For them, it was all love, and all of it best of all right then, and there, together in the dark, with the recorded storm rattling around them and the breeze of the room fan fluttering the sheet that lay over them.

Together, they made love beautifully.


End file.
